Everything that can't be touched
by Yero my hero
Summary: A series of drabbles. There once was a girl that was born in the rain. The cruelest of tragedies.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Inspired in large part by Lillian Townsend's "A flurry of hope," and also in part by the novel "The History of Love."

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

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There once was a girl that was born in the rain. The cruelest of tragedies. 

There once was a girl that was born in rain that she would never get to touch. Rain that soaked into the floorboards of the porch and into the frames of the windowsills. Rain that grabbed the light and tried to keep it for itself but failed, and the light fled from the drops in tiny pieces, suggesting of itself that anything is made of light, light is every color, that every surface it touches is everything.

There once was a girl that hid in her own home. Her home was the land and the home of her family. They whispered. Maybe water didn't kill the girl. Maybe it made her disappear. A hint of clouds and the girl was gone, and it was learned to never look, for they'd never have found her, aloft in a tree that somehow kept out the rain, a tree over the water, great armies of rain pounding across the lake, swarming like a million insects, fighting the landing, falling and twirling, fighting the moment that it hit the surface and could no longer be. No longer able to ride the wind, catch the light, catch the small captivated eyes of a green girl. It could no longer rumble its disapproval to her for the world, whistling past, crashing twenty yards below her feet.

There once was a girl that moved away from the land, the land that was her home, but never ceased to miss it. And the girl found something new, a huge flurry of flakes, white chips of ice that didn't catch the sun, didn't cry its agony, but fell softly, steaming the glass and chilling the dorms to the point of aching wet misery.

There once was a girl that sat at her window and smudged a handprint into the cool pane, wondering what would happen if her fingers slipped through, and if her skin would turn icy white like the flakes that she would never long to touch.

There once was a girl that sat on a cobblestone porch, holding a child that would touch the rain, would capture it in his hair and carry it in his boots. The girl gazed at the rain and felt nothing, no longing, no bitterness, no regret. Only jealousy for the sky, to patter its disapproval for the world and cry itself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I liked the idea of this too much to let it go. I'll probably do a few other characters as well. Please review and tell me what you think. Again inspired in large part by Nicole Krauss' novel "The History of Love."

**Disclaimer: **Only some of it is mine.

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There once was a girl that was born into the life of royalty that every child dreams of. 

There once was a girl that grew up wearing high heels and bows. Play time was tea time, dinner time was etiquette, walks were watched. Even sleep never felt quite right, never felt quite free, because four-year-olds are not meant to sleep with curlers in their hair.

There once was a girl that turned thirteen in the spring. A cupcake on the nightstand greeted her with crude pink icing. _Happy Birthday. _A birthday dress fluttered in the wind.

There once was a girl that wore a dress on the day that she became old enough to earn respect. She threw a cupcake with crude pink icing into the trash and headed out to face the day. A pony greeted her, _Happy Birthday, _a pony without a name, a pony that the girl wanted to name Mommyanddaddy so she could say, "Good morning, Mommyanddaddy, it's my birthday today." But instead she cried behind the barn, wishing for the cupcake with crude icing, and was found later by the milkmaid and the stable boy, who were too afraid of her to wish her a good day.

There once was a girl that subsisted on gowns and balls and not eating and not making a fool of herself.

There once was a girl that knew that she would never get the love of Mommy and Daddy that she'd never been promised at birth. She was given the world with no sun in the sky.

There once was a girl that mounted the horse she'd gotten for her thirteenth birthday and left for good, never to come back except in her dreams, where she'd wear a gown and twirl and say, Mommyanddaddy, look at me sparkle.

There once was a girl that married the only man she'd ever loved, because he was the only man that had ever loved her. She subsisted on him and on love and on sleeping at noon with no rollers in her hair.

There once was a girl that fell out of happiness with the only man she had ever loved, and had a daughter that would never show her mother's longing.

There once was a girl that failed to bring a rich boy home, failed to bring happiness to her home, failed to earn the love of the ones that had birthed her, or the ones that had raised her. She failed to bring a child to the family that could please the world. She failed until the day she died, her one success, a son, taking her, a martyr, she died to succeed. And the son was the biggest failure of all.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Not my favorite, but a new way to look at things, which I appreciate in and of itself. Also, I realize that these pieces are short, but they still take time to write, and I realize that they take only a moment to read, but in that sense, it would be only right to extend a moment back to me. It only takes a short time to review. Anything to let me know that you're reading. A character request, or a remark on the piece, or a disinterested opinion of disapproval. Something.

**Disclaimer: **Each of these are, and will be in some way, inspired by "The History of Love." The use of the literary device "Once upon a time there was a boy," repeated to tell the story of a life, is not my own invention. But by now you shall realize that, and I shall stop citing it. But if anyone has a moment, and likes lyrical-type writing, then check out this novel. It's quite beautiful. Also, the characters referenced in each of these stories are not my own.

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There once was a boy that was born into docility. Perfect love. 

There once was a boy that grew up with a crown of roses about his head. Knowledge at his fingertips, grass knolls beneath bare feet. Water below, servants in white, sky above and everywhere, balls of fluttering fairies and twinkling lights, greens and golds, chaste white curtains and wedding announcements.

There once was a boy that knew his whole life. He slipped between tanned faces, all eyes upon him, into the school he'd been assigned to since birth. He crossed the planes in the journey that had been written in stone. He met the girl that was his, placed in his path, fate, destined from his first breath, from the first parting of his lips, his first gleam of malice in clear blue eyes.

There once was a boy that accidentally tripped on shoes that were just the right fit. A boy that stumbled into the biggest mistake of his life, for what was more of a sin than something never planned?

There once was a boy with a perfect life in which his one mistake would become the only plans he'd ever keep. His every slip-up a reason to live, a reason to breathe one more time, one more gasp of air between parted lips with which to love his one mistake.

There once was a boy that chose life. And in choosing life, chose death. A death with no planned cemeteries and ceremonies. A death in the arms of his one true mistake, the only thing he had ever done right.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Another one that is not my favorite. Lurlinemas is officially my least favorite day of the year. And no, I do not care that it will never really exist. I shall provide my own day and call it Lurlinemas and mourn the death of this love.

-coughs- Ahem. Anyway. Reviews would be nice. Please?

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, certainly.

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He couldn't sleep. He never could anymore. With each passing day, the need to lie awake and watch the sleeping, breathing form of his lover became more persistent. 

Ice was crusted to the window, a hard shell of crystals. Elphaba's face seemed tiny beneath the thick weight of her black hair, clouding her peaceful eyes in dark folds of night. Her breath came out in little puffs, phantoms of cotton in the morning air.

He wanted to move closer to her, but he could see that she was dreaming. Slowly, he pulled the blanket up closer about her shoulders. Her fingers clenched. He smiled. Her clenching fingers—that's what he would miss the most. _When you're gone, _the barren, frozen expanse of his mind whispered. The thought seemed too loud in the empty room. He shifted.

He settled into the blankets and watched those slender green fingers. They clenched lightly, danced upon the white sheets. Almost jerkily; unlike a person sitting at the piano, singing away her life. Unlike swift fingers, rapping as they so often did upon tabletops. But questioning, hesitant, and looking up at the eyes of his lover, dark lashes and dark hair and purple circles beneath them, Fiyero could almost walk into the land of her dreams; she's sneaking up behind him, gentle fingertips upon his shoulder. _Never leave me._

A child called out in the frozen morning outside the window, a shrill cry on the shrill wind, and the air, so frozen before, so enraptured at this love, this beauty, it fell and turned to invisible snow, soft air falling down around the lovers in their bed.

Fiyero moved slowly, awkwardly, and wrapped an arm about Elphaba's waist. He breathed in the cologne of her hair. He was warm, the air was warm, he wished that they could last forever, Fiyero and Elphaba, Yerofae, forever warm, guarded by drifting warm air. She smiled against the pillow. He didn't see.

"Happy Lurlinemas," he whispered into her hair.


End file.
